She let the curtain drop back into place. “I…I had another dream,” she said. “About the night I was injured.”
“Have you remembered more?” He was chewing gum, the watery sound of it making her stomach roil even more.
“Maybe.” She thought of Cole but stopped short of mentioning him.
She couldn’t seem to go more than a few seconds without the man popping into her mind. It was crazy, but each time he spoke in that deep timbre of his or looked at her with a directness that made her dizzy or, God, touched her, he became the homecoming this creaking old place hadn’t been until she’d woken with him watching over her.
“I’m not sure what’s real,” she said to Dawson, “and what isn’t. But…”
“You had another dream.” He sighed, his annoyance plain. “Ms. Cassidy, if there’s no emergency, I have other more pressing matters to attend to.”
Matters, no doubt, where his witnesses weren’t clingy head cases. “I was wondering if there was any other reason why you moved me up here from Atlanta,” she blurted out, “besides hoping I’d find it easier to remember my life. I mean, am I being protected in some way or being kept this isolated for some other reason? Is there a known threat, beyond whatever happened to me the night I was shot?”
The connection crackled over his silence. Shaw’s eyes narrowed. Why the hell hadn’t she already confronted this insufferable man with that very question?
Cole was right. It was time to trust her instincts, more than she did her panic and the half truths she’d started to suspect were being spouted to her by officers who couldn’t care less whether she got better.
“Inspector Dawson?”
“Your only concern is to remember as much as you can, as quickly as possible.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“Telling you more about your situation could jeopardize your recovery.”
“And that sounds like a cop-out.” The bite in her tone made her sound like a bitch, and she liked it. She felt her connection strengthening to the CEO lurking inside her, a woman who’d never have taken no for an answer from an inspector who was supposed to be looking out for her. “I’m asking you directly. Is my life in jeopardy?”
“Is there any particular reason why you’re wondering, besides your dream?”
She should tell him. About everything. Including Cole, who technically could be behind all of it, no matter how good she felt when he was near.
“Being alone out here in the dead of winter,” she settled for saying, “is spooky.”
“It’s what your doctors think is best.”
“Only my doctors?”
Dawson wasn’t telling her everything. She had a feeling Dawson never had. And for the first time, she was certain that it wasn’t entirely for her own good.
So, in addition to recklessly accepting the help of a neighbor she didn’t remember who was returning any minute, she was feeling increasingly less inclined to trust the federal officer who’d supposedly been appointed to watch out for her.
Stellar.
“You know as much about your case as I can tell you,” Dawson said. “I’m sorry. But until you remember more on your own, it’s best to keep you in the dark about the rest.”
And the hits just kept coming.
Shaw looked out the French doors again, pulling aside the insubstantial material obstructing her view. Cole was approaching the front of the house. Waning moonlight caressed the size and masculine grace of him, and the familiarity of how he moved. She was relieved to see him coming back. But should she be?
How much could she really depend on either of these men?
Still, Cole wasn’t hiding from her, hours away in the city. Or fobbing her off with excuses. He actually seemed to want to deal with what was happening, all the disconnected bits of it. She suspected that kind of charge-through-the-storm approach came as second nature to him. As it did to her, at least for tonight. She’d be crazy not to take him up on his friendly offer, even if at the moment she wasn’t feeling particularly friendly toward anything. It would be a mistake not to trust him, certainly more than she trusted Dawson.
The doorbell rang.
“Ms. Cassidy?” Dawson said.
“Fine,” she replied, already walking out the bedroom toward the stairs. For the first time since her attack, she felt stronger, more in control. Tonight, she was taking her recovery firmly into her own hands. “I’m sorry to have bothered you.”
She punched off the connection. She smoothed at the wrinkles in her sweat suit with her free hand and headed downstairs, moving faster with each step.